


Mochas and Mustaches

by fictsunami, yamiaainferno



Series: Coffees and Conflicts [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, Who Killed Markiplier, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Damien (Who Killed Markiplier) - Freeform, Dilliam - Freeform, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Light Angst, M/M, Multi, Other Youtubers, Who Killed Markiplier?, Wilford Warfstache/The Mayor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-03-24 23:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13821285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictsunami/pseuds/fictsunami, https://archiveofourown.org/users/yamiaainferno/pseuds/yamiaainferno
Summary: "Damien didn’t particularly care about the plain decor, nor the scent of coffee. His eyes were immediately drawn to suspenders, a green apron, and a well groomed mustache. He might have not recognized William if it weren’t for the unmistakable massive grin that spread across his face at the sight of his best friend. At that moment, the birdwings that Damien had so desperately hoped had starved burst forth into his chest."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to @yamiaainferno for being my editor and beta. I couldn't have done this without you!

New Ashford was hidden away behind a curtain of maple trees and black birches. The winters were harsh, but the summers were gentle, and the falls were breathtaking. On its outskirts stood large, time-weathered houses. It was a typical small town, where the money of passers-by flowed more readily than that of its citizens. New Ashford itself was cobblestone streets and New England charm: a tourist trap. Those who called it home were wealthy or retired, and most of the many shops were family owned and employed students from Yale, less than an hour away.

New Ashford was also the place Damien Doom had called home the first 18 years his life.

His mother had graduated from Yale and his father from Harvard. The name “Doom” had become synonymous with old money in the town, more so than most of the other families in New Ashford. Damien’s privilege was glaringly obvious: born with a silver spoon, admittedly white passing, and the financial opportunity to go to an Ivy League school without a scholarship.

It was to this little town that he was returning for the summer, but this year it would just be him and his 19-year-old sister while his parents were on a European excursion for the next 2 months.

His car approached the house he grew up in and called home: a lovely Victorian with large windows, light and elegant colors, and a roof that narrowed into hard edges and points. The home was a bit smaller than some of their friends’, but his family was never one for an extravagant Romanesque Revival mansion on over 10 acres, unlike the Fischbachs. As he parked his car in the paved driveway, he found himself grateful for it; if he lived in a home like Mark’s, the empty rooms and echoing hallways would have driven him crazy.

“Hello.” Celine greeted him at the door. He hadn’t even knocked. She curtsied, beginning a game that they had played since they were children. “Whatever brings you here, dearest brother?”

“I am on holiday from my schooling, beloved sister.” Damien stood up straighter, looking as formal as possible. “Despite our long estrangement, I’m hoping to rekindle our rapport. Perhaps you will allow me to stay and recover from my long and strenuous journey? I fear I may be growing ill!” The back of Damien’s hand flew to his forehead, as though he would faint at any moment.

“Goodness me!” Celine’s hands shot to her cheeks in cartoonish surprise. “Say no more! The help will prepare you a room immediately. Don’t worry my sweet brother, soon you will be in good health once more. Mother and Father will be delighted to hear of your return, as they have suitors for you to meet!” Damien cracked at the mention of _suitors_ and broke down laughing. As a little girl, Celine had loved to pretend she was in a Jane Austen novel, and as he was a good brother, Damien would join. She grew out of it, but greeting each other with dramatics and old-fashioned dialects had become something of an inside joke. Celine had once justified it as _‘breaking the boring small talk cycle’._ Finally, she moved out of the way and let Damien carry his bags up the stairs.

His childhood bedroom was plain and elegant, just like the rest of the house. The walls were painted a pale blue with ornate white detailing, and the floors were a dark oak. When Damien left for college, much of the character of the room had come with him, leaving it rather plain. The only personal things left were some photos he had hung and the heavy oak writing desk sat in the corner that was empty save for the bottom drawers, which contained a slew of embarrassing poetry, other high school writings, and more pictures. The tapping of heels on hardwood interrupted Damien’s reminiscing.

“Damien, we need to catch up.” Celine was leaning on the door of Damien’s room. “It’s been super shitty since you left, and you never check your phone!” She huffed. It wasn’t a surprise that she had things to tell him, nor was it a surprise that she hadn’t called him: Damien was immersed in school work, and every semester, after the umpteenth time he had answered her texts and voicemails a full day later, she stopped bothering.

He and Celine had fallen into this pattern when he went off to college. Damien would come back for Christmas or the summer or whatever holiday his parents wanted him present for, and after the expected pleasantries and dramatics Celine would jump into weaving a tale of all the excitement she had gotten up to since he last left.

The past winter Celine had divulged that she had begun dating Mark; an over the top romantic tale that had involved a battle of the wits, weed, and becoming minor drug lords for the Yale student body. Damien was playing his part; he nodded and listened politely as he put his clothes in the intricately carved antique oak armoire. Again, he found himself stopping at Mark’s name, but for an entirely different reason, “...Mark and I broke up towards the end of February. Anyways-”

“Wait- Celine, what happened between you and Mark?” Damien interrupted, stopping her from glazing over the topic nonchalantly. He was well aware of the two’s on-again-off-again relationship, but it sounded official this time from the longevity alone. She groaned, clearly hoping to avoid the subject, but knowing that Damien wouldn’t let it drop if she tried.

“Well, there’s a million reasons for that. He’s an arrogant child. He never wants to do anything fun except smoke. He spent more time with his theater friends than me--”

“Celine.” Damien gently cut her off. She was toeing around the subject. “None of that mattered before. He was like that when you started dating him.”

“One of my few mistakes.”

“Celine, what happened?” Even as a child, Celine did her best to put on an air of mysticism and mystery, so it was odd to see her uncomfortable. She wrung her hands for a moment, but did her best to maintain eye contact. She reminded him of a teenager debating whether or not they should hide their mistake.

“I guess what finally killed the relationship was getting drunk and sleeping with William.”

William had been the subject of Damien’s gut-twisting butterflies’ affection since he was old enough to understand what a “crush” was. Unlike most childhood crushes, however, the damned thing didn’t fade with time. The butterflies grew from skippers to monarchs to birdwings, becoming so overwhelming that he could feel them flutter against his heart every time William flashed his stupid grin. It had destroyed him when William went away to study at West Point at 17.

“William is back? Wait-- Are you _dating_ ?” Damien’s head was spinning, and anger curled in his stomach. Celine’s disregard for his feelings, both his affections for Will and lack of informing him of the man’s return, _hurt_. He quickly smothered the fire in his gut. If they were happy together, he would grin and bear it.

“Damien, calm down.” She rolled her eyes. “We aren’t dating. We were drunk at one of Mark’s parties, and I was pissed. We started making out, and I may have forgotten that Mark and I were ‘on’ and not ‘off.’ That’s it. I’m not interested in dating William.” Celine explained, calm and cool, like his worrying was ridiculous. Damien breathed, taking a moment to think. His sister and his best friend had sex. Mark was likely hurting, and Damien should visit him to offer comfort. Despite everyone being together again, their childhood group was in shambles. The initial betrayal subsided, and the heaviness of guilt settled in his stomach. If he were here, he could have kept an eye on William or Celine and prevented all of this. If he had been a decent brother and friend, he would have known sooner.

“So...William is back?” Damien muttered after a beat. He twisted and fiddled with the shirt in his hands. “Not for the summer, but actually _back_?”

“Yes! I sent you pictures of us in his apartment. I thought you knew.” Celine raised an eyebrow at her brother. Damien’s heart sank a bit as he realized his mistake; he had assumed the worst of his sister’s attentions.

“I thought you were visiting.” Damien shook his head and finally folded the shirt in his hands. After a beat of silence, Celine moved from the doorway and laid a manicured hand on her brother’s shoulder.

“We can go see him after you finish packing. He’s going to be ecstatic to see you.” Her voice was rarely this soft, and Damien felt horrible for how transparent he seemed to be. Her hand left his shoulder, and the clicking of heels followed her out of the room to leave Damien with his thoughts.

 

Damien remembered the night vividly. They were all young and dumb: Mark, William, and Damien all 17 and Celine 15. He hadn’t felt excitement at the prospect of starting his senior year, or anxious for his upcoming interview with Harvard, but almost numb. The four of them had been all but inseparable for 10 years. They were supposed to be together forever, but William had to go and _ruin_ it. He went to such lengths to _prove_ himself worthy of his adoptive family; it made Damien’s heart ache.

The four of them had spent the whole day together, but it had passed in a blur. It ended with him and Celine saying their goodbyes outside of the manor. Damien had been harboring resentment towards William and the situation at large for most of the summer. He had done his best to bury it down, but in the moment he found it manifesting itself in rolling tears.

He hated that William had gotten his GED rather than waiting to walk the stage with him. He hated that he’d helped William study for his entrance exams and to get a recommendation. He hated that it felt like his heart was being torn to shreds just at the _thought_ of losing Will. He hated that William hadn’t seemed to notice until Damien started sobbing.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry.” William had taken Damien into his arms and spoken comfortingly in that dumb, adorable accent that never seemed to disappear completely. His chest was warm and Damien’s tears were hot in comparison to the cool air of early autumn. “I’ll be back before you know it. I know I’ll be working through the summers, but you can still visit me.” William’s reassurances felt empty.

“Will…” He choked out a sob. He wanted to say that it could be _10 years_ before they saw each other again. That he might not come back _at all_ . He wanted to scream at Will for doing this them, to _him_. He wanted to be selfish for once in his life and kiss William senseless; demand that he stay because Damien loved him and couldn’t imagine life without his best friend.

He only cried harder, too cowardly and doubtful to do any of the things he wanted to do. Besides, no one could change Will’s mind except Will.

“Maybe I’ll be a Colonel next time you see me.”

 

~

 

“He’s working because he wants to ‘make a living for himself’ and ‘not have to rely on Mark’s family’s money anymore’. He moved out and is renting a place.” Celine explained as they walked down the street of their neighborhood’s small shopping district, towards the café.

“So, you said the coffee shop has a new owner?

“Yes, the Holloways sold it to a weird lady with a weird dog, but she’s cool. I swear you would know this if you actually talked to anyone.” She teased. The cobblestone road made Celine’s heels click, and Damien was suddenly struck with the bougie feel to this side of town: it was more purposeful than the streets of Boston and Cambridge that he had grown accustomed to during his time at Harvard. “Coffee Beanz” was the same way. Walking in, Damien was nearly overwhelmed with the scent of freshly ground coffee. Everything was vaguely hipster, but unremarkably so; plain cream walls and decorations featuring coffee and a Mexican Xolo with its tongue sticking out. and more than enough natural light coming in through the large windows.

However, Damien didn’t particularly care about the plain decor, nor the scent of coffee. His eyes were immediately drawn to suspenders, a green apron, and a well-groomed mustache. He might not have recognized William if it weren’t for the unmistakable massive grin that spread across his face at the sight of his best friend. At that moment, the birdwings that Damien had so desperately hoped had starved burst forth into his chest.

“Damien! You’re back!” William jumped over the small counter and dashed to greet him, eliciting a high pitched shriek from his coworker and several surprised gasps from the customers. If William’s smile had revived the insects, then Wiliam taking Damien into his arms and lifting him into the air made them _ebullient_. Damien’s surprised spluttering at the initial lift soon devolved into a fit of giggles as the other man excitedly spun him around. Damien was surprised he wasn’t coughing up iridescent green wings. Despite all of this, he was still disappointed when William put him back on the ground.

“You’re really back! Did you just get into town? I’ve missed you _so much_ !” William enthused at his arrival, bouncing in place as he spoke. Damien was still recovering from his shock. In the flesh, William was quite the sight to behold. The barely toned arms of a high schooler had swelled into the muscular arms of a man who had trained for several years and were being displayed beautifully in the rolled up sleeves of his pale yellow work shirt. The soft roundness of his jaw had hardened and defined, and the barely-there wisps of facial hair had grown into a full-fledged handlebar mustache. If those butterflies _had_ died, Damien was sure that this breathtaking man would have just bred new ones. William’s grin and mocha eyes would have stolen his heart all over again.

After apologizing to his disgruntled coworker, William took his break to make the siblings cups of coffee with adorable mustaches in the foam. He sat across from them and asked a million questions, but Damien didn’t have a particularly interesting answer to any one of them. He showed a picture of his roommate of the past few years, D.A., which got a little frown from Will.

“Ah, Mark and I’s replacement?” A wave of guilt struck him. After William had dropped out of West Point, Damien had been absorbed in his own studies. In the stacks of papers, he avoided what it would mean to bring Will back into his life: having to say goodbye again. The responsibility for their lack of communication over the last 4 years rested on Damien’s shoulders.

“You know no one could replace you.” Damien said, perhaps too quickly. “Or Mark.”

“Not a boyfriend either, right?” Celine asked, a mischievous smile pulling at her lips.

“No Celine, not a boyfriend. I’ve told you that I don’t have time for… such activities.” Damien sighed, doing little to hide the annoyance and exasperation in his voice. He hadn’t slept with anyone since freshman year of college with a classmate at a party towards the end of the semester. It had been an awkward experience.

“Pfft, someone needs to get laid.” Celine took a sip of her latte. Damien rolled his eyes and took a sip of his own mocha. When he looked back to Celine and Will, both of them were holding back laughter.

“Dames, you have a foam mustache from my foam mustache!” Will chuckled and wiped the foam from Damien’s lip with a single swipe of his calloused thumb. In that one simple motion, he destroyed both the mustache and a portion of Damien’s sanity. He had forgotten about William’s beautiful lack of personal space, which had been the bane of Damien’s existence as a youth.

“Thanks, Will.” He finally choked out. His heart was being swarmed and trying to escape through his chest. This man was going to kill him.

 

~

 

Visiting Mark’s the next day was less of an affair. They exchanged a warm hug, both feet planted firmly on the ground, discussed their activities and schooling, and indulged in Mark’s competitive nature by playing some golf. It was their routine, and they went through the motions, but there was a heaviness in the air. An inescapable awkwardness as they tiptoed around subjects they previously didn’t. By the time they reached hole 3, it had become a contest. Who would break and mention the elephant in the room first? By hole 6, both men had grown silent.

“So, how’s Celine?” Mark asked with forced cheerfulness, breaking the silence and losing the game. It wasn’t a happy victory.

“She’s fine. Happy to have me back, I hope.” Damien putted and barely missed the hole. Mark then took his turn and sunk it, the ball hitting the bottom with a light _thump_.

“She take you to the coffee shop?”

“Yes.” Damien putted again and nearly missed, despite the easy shot. He could feel sweat slicking his hands. When Mark was in a mood he had this uncanny ability to make Damien nervous beyond belief: he had always been quick to anger and unpredictable. “It was good to see Will again.” Mark tsked in disapproval.

“Did Celine tell you?” Mark’s question only exasperated Damien. He knew where this was going.

“Yes, Mark, and I’d rather not discuss it.” Neither moved to go to the next hole. Mark’s stance changed.

“Come on, D. Cut me some slack.” Sarcasm was heavy in his voice. “I’m a heartbroken friend, that just went through a bad break up. If you bothered to call, we could have talked about this sooner.” Damien winced. “I haven’t exactly had anyone to _really_ talk about it with.”

“Mark--”

“Damien.” Mark cut him off. His leg was bouncing in agitation, his tone accusatory. “She cheated on me with _my brother_.” Damien didn’t deserve this, as guilty as he felt. He wouldn’t be cornered into choosing a side.

“I’m sorry about what happened, truly, but it’s none of my business.” Damien handed his club to the butler, who stood nearby. “Thank you, Benjamin.”

“Damien-” Mark rolled his eyes, his grip white-knuckled on the handle of his putter.

“This doesn’t involve me. I’m sorry you were hurt. I’m sorry that I wasn’t here or available. You didn’t deserve to be cheated on, but you’re acting like a child, Mark. I haven’t seen William in ages, and I’m excited. Celine is my sister. I won’t avoid them over this.” Damien hoped his voice was firm. “I need to go. I’ll see you later.” Damien walked away and Mark didn’t stop him. Damien knew this was likely just the first of a series of tense conversations. Mark didn’t tend to let things go, but anything that was not said today could be said another.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He just wanted to catch up with Will. Stealing glances at his gorgeous friend when they couldn’t talk was just an added bonus. Besides, it was always delightful to visit: William always seemed to brighten at the sight of him, his customer service smile spreading into one of genuine delight. Damien felt an overwhelming attachment to those pearly whites and crinkled eyes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to @yamiaainferno, editor and co-author again for being such an integral part of the creation of this fic. A section of this fic was completely written by yamiaainferno, so go check out her writing!

William remembered the day vividly. June was always hot in New York, but this day felt particularly sweltering. Luckily, West Point’s facilities always had working AC, and Will didn’t feel too overheated in the layers of the white suit he had donned. His “India Whites” were a mix of polyester and cotton that felt heavy on his shoulders, and would be unbearable when he had to march outside. William had been at West Point for 2 years; he was 19 years old and one of the youngest in his class. At the oath ceremony, he would finally be sworn into the military.

William straightened his back and looked in the mirror. He didn’t look bad; in fact, he looked undeniably handsome in the white suit. The color emphasized the broadness of his shoulders, and he looked professional and regal. Still, he immediately hated it: a feeling of dread and awful memories began to overwhelm him.

He thought back to his first day of school, where he saw mothers bawling in both pride and grief when seeing their sons and daughters off. He thought back to the alumni and soldiers he had met in the past two years that were angry, missing limbs, and spoke of terrors that met them in the night. He thought back to last fall when one of the older girls had found out that her boyfriend had been killed in action; she’d been inconsolable for weeks.

This wasn’t the first time doubt had crept in. The mothers, the soldiers, and his classmate’s grief had all brought it to bear. Every time, he pushed it back: this had been his dream since he was a child, to follow in the footsteps of his grandfather, Colonel Warfstache. He wanted to command respect, to be revered, to make his family proud, but the romanticism of the old wars was quickly being replaced by the horrors of reality. Standing in front of the mirror in all white, he felt like he was about to march into Hell.

William anxiously wrung his gloved hands as an awful image burst into his mind: An officer in front of the Fischbachs, handing them a folded flag. His mom would begin to cry, and his dad would hold it together for both of them. Mark would pretend not to cry angry tears, storm off and break something. Celine would try to make a joke out of it, perhaps saying that she’ll actually get to talk to Will now, but she’d be angrier than Mark. Damien would be sobbing, inconsolable, and William wouldn’t be there to hold him.

He hated the idea. He hated the weight of the damn clothes on his back. They felt out of place, _wrong ,_ and heavy like concrete. William’s skin crawled.

**_Are you ready to die for your country?_ **

It’s the question everyone has to ask themselves when they’re going to be deployed, but he still wasn’t sure.

**_Are you ready to kill for your country?_ **

William couldn’t imagine doing that. Hunting was one thing, he was an excellent shot, but shooting a person was something completely different. He didn’t think he could do that as he was today. Would his service change that? Did he want it to?

**_Are you ready?_ **

“Are you ready, Will?” His roommate interrupted his racing thoughts. “We need to get going, we don’t want to miss the Oath ceremony.”

William found himself darting away from the building he had been living in for the past 2 years and into a wooded area of the campus. The students came out here sometimes for training, getting a feel for landscapes other than a flat track or a treadmill.

“I can’t, _I can’t_.” He gasped, finally coming to a stop by a tall tree, collapsing to his knees at its base. William put his face into his gloved hands, still in his whites, and found they came back wet with tears and sweat. It was June, and hot, and he was crying.

The answer to all of those questions had been a resounding _NO._

 

~

 

Damien had never gone out for coffee much. His Keurig always been enough for his purposes, gourmet coffee saved for group study sessions at a coffee shop or the occasional awkward date. He had hoped that the shift wasn’t noticeable, but Celine was nothing if not sharp, making a point to see him off every morning and tease him.

“Wow Damien, _thirsty_ much?”

“I always have coffee in the morning, Celine.” So what if going out for it was new? He just wanted to catch up with Will. Stealing glances at his gorgeous friend when they couldn’t talk was just an added bonus. Besides, it was always delightful to visit: William always seemed to brighten at the sight of him, his customer service smile spreading into one of genuine delight. Damien felt an overwhelming attachment to those pearly whites and crinkled eyes.

“Dames, what’s your favorite drink?” Will asked one day. Damien had to think about it, he tended not to give his order much thought.

“I usually just do black coffee, but I enjoy mochas and lattes. Honestly, I haven’t given it much thought.” Damien lived on coffee during school, but it was always about the caffeine rather than the taste.

“Really? That’s no fun. I could help you experiment, if you’d like.”

“It sounds like you’re just trying to sell me more expensive coffee.” Damien teased. William laughed, hearty and beautiful.

“Variety is the spice of life, darling.” He grinned. Damien flushed at the pet name, barely able to keep himself from spluttering.

“Alright, fine. I’m open to trying new things.” Damien sipped his white chocolate mocha, breaking eye contact and letting him hide his reddened face.

 

Unlike the coffee, the patrons of the shop were fairly consistent. There was a little old white-haired lady who ordered plain coffee with room for cream. Two men around his own age who looked nearly identical that came in every few days to get smoothies, loudly calling each other “Jim” like it was an inside joke. A gaggle of teen girls would come in and order various flavors of frappes.

The only regular as dedicated as Damien, coming in nearly every day, was a man in his late 20s with dark hair, bright clothes, and pale skin. He smelled so overwhelmingly of flowers that it was noticeable as he entered, and always ordered a caramel macchiato. Dan, Will’s coworker who was predisposed to shrieking, unfailingly lit up when he arrived.

“Who is that?” Damien asked softly as Will sat down across from him, sliding over a vanilla latte with honey.

“He just bought the flower shop across the street a few months ago.” William answered, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Oh?” Damien eyed his friend’s expression curiously and took a sip; the drink was pleasant. He thought it would be kind to a sore throat.

“Mm-hm. Did you notice he comes in every day?” Damien nodded, and William leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, hand cupping his mouth. “He has an _incredibly_ obvious crush on Dan.” Damien raised an eyebrow.

“How do you know?”  
  
“Well…” William thought for a moment, his hand going to his chin. “I just know. He comes in every day, always makes sure Dan is taking his order, and he just looks at him in a way that _screams_ it. I think it’s something in the eyes.” Damien picked anxiously at his cuticles and briefly wondered if he was equally transparent.

 

Roughly a week into Damien’s coffee excursions, the shop got a new couch. It looked comfortable and was a lovely wine color that would pop in the mostly-beige store, but the delivery persons had left it outside on the curb, not bothering to bring it in. Dan grumbled and ducked into the back upon seeing the truck drive off. A moment later, a furious woman that looked to be in her 30s stormed out, Dan trailing behind. She had dark red hair and a face that would look kind if she weren’t so livid. Damien watched her go out the front door with concern.

“OH YOU MOTHER--!” She kicked the side of the couch. “I’M GOING TO GIVE YOU A SHITTY YELP REVIEW!” After a few more grumbled expletives, she paused and took a deep breath.

“WILLY, I NEED YOUR HELP!” She shouted. Everything ground to a halt, and William shot an apologetic look to Dan as he left his coworker to man the busy counter alone. He made his way around the corner and stood at attention. Damien hurried over to help as well, but was quickly waved away by the woman, who Damien had by now intuited to be William’s boss, Mamrie.

“Oh thank you sweetie, but me and Willy got it.” She smiled. Damien nodded and opted to hold the door open for them instead. She turned back to William. “I need you to carry this in with me.”

“Yes ma’am.” He smiled at his boss, and she pinched his cheek affectionately.

“Such a sweet, buff boy.” She smiled, showing off the gap between her front teeth. She went to the other side, crouching down and getting into position before counting down to the lift. Damien couldn’t help but stare; William could clearly handle the weight, but watching the muscles in his arms flex and bulge as he carried the heavy couch made Damien hotter under the collar than he’d ever admit. He flushed and let the door swing shut behind them, returning to his table and his raspberry mocha, allowing his eyes to linger as Will and Mamrie got the couch into position.

 

~

 

“Do you want to come over? To my home, not Mark’s.” William asked, 14 flavors in. Damien nearly spilled his caramel mocha frappe. William laughed. “It’s hard to talk at work. You’re usually here during the rush, and I can’t justify too much goofing off, even if we’re not especially busy.”

“Of course, just text me your address.” Damien had barely gotten through “of course” when William broke out his phone with a grin and did exactly that. The old woman queued up behind Damien, meaning that he had to stop lingering.

“I get off at 6, so I’ll see you at 7?” Will asked, hopeful, and even if Damien had plans he would have given them up in a heartbeat.

“I’ll see you at 7.” Damien could feel the butterflies fluttering. The woman behind him gave a pointed cough, prompting Damien to smile apologetically and find a seat.

 

William’s apartment was more of a loft than anything. It was the small, unused upstairs of a local bookstore, only a few blocks from the coffee shop. The loft itself seemed turn of the century: there was vintage detailing on the walls and windows, and the floor was a dark oak. Mayhaps the most interesting feature was the almost randomly placed antique bathtub in the kitchen, not uncommon in old homes, but at odds with the otherwise modern decor and piles of labeled boxes. The place was a lovely mix of old and new; a perfect fit for William.

“Sorry about the mess.” Will said a little bashfully, pushing a large open box out of the middle of the floor and towards a beige colored wall. “I’ve hadn’t had the time to finish unpacking.”

“I could help, if you wanted to get it done today.” Damien offered without a second thought. William smiled.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that Dames-“

“You’re not. I insist.” Damien was happy to help. He relished in making himself useful, whether for strangers, acquaintances, or friends. William especially, as his hearty laughs and thankful smile made Damien’s heart flutter and ache in a wonderful way.

The unpacking wasn’t particularly strenuous, but it was time consuming. A place had to be found for everything, and the boxes weren’t especially well organized. Much of William’s things honestly could have been left at the manor, but he had always been the sentimental type. He held onto books he would never read because they had been gifts, records he never listened to because they reminded him of simpler times, and even held onto silly trinkets like the colored twine friendship bracelet with letter beads threaded in that Damien had made for himself, Mark, and William when they were children.

Where most saw clutter, William saw memories. It was an endearing, if at times inconvenient, trait, and Damien couldn’t bring himself to feel anything other than fond, even as the two of them struggled to find a home for everything. Sorting through the handful of boxes had become a walk through memory lane for the both of them, as most of William’s mementos involved Damien as well, such as the bracelet. Mark had claimed to lose his a couple weeks in, but Will had worn his until it fell off near the end of that summer, and then kept it all these years. Running his fingers over the cheap plastic beads spelling out “FOREVER” made warmth bloom in Damien’s chest.

“Dames, I found another record!” William bounced excitedly up from where he had been rummaging in a box for the umpteenth time that night, brandishing a large paper envelope adorned with images of Frank Sinatra and Count Baise. The last record that William had found was still playing softly in the background as they worked, but he made his way to his record player regardless, putting _It Might As Well Be Swing_ on instead. Soon Sinatra’s lovely baritone was filling the room. William snapped to the beat, grinning at Damien and looking comically old fashioned. Damien didn’t bother hiding his chuckle.

“You’re ridiculous.” He muttered, fondness unabashedly at the surface. William’s smile widened as he crossed the room, bowing and offering his hand like a proper gentleman.

“Could I have this dance?” William’s eyes twinkled devilishly, his grin growing wider when Damien took his hand. His chest felt light as William wrapped an arm around him, Damien letting his free hand rest on William’s shoulder, allowing him to take the lead.

Dancing with William came as naturally as breathing. When they were adolescents they were pressured to learn for their parents’ formal events, and their group of four had been enrolled in lessons together. Mark had insisted he dance with Celine, and so the two of them had ended up being partnered. While it had been fun, it had done no favors for Damien’s blossoming crush.

They fell into something like a foxtrot, circling the small area they could with their steps. They easily fell in sync, chests not quite pressed together and Damien’s butterflies at full force. He found himself laughing as William spun him around the room. The first song faded into the next, and then another, but William made no move to separate, and so neither did Damien. They were slow stepping like children and loving it.

“I see you kept up your dancing skills at college.” William’s grin seemed to be carved into his face, and Damien was beaming right back.

“Hardly. The dancing that goes on at universities is rarely so traditional, and I never found myself frequenting parties.” He had forgotten how much he enjoyed this: being pressed against another person as your bodies create art, enjoying the warmth of another person. William twirled him again, and their hands naturally found each other as Damien came back.

“Too busy being student body president?” William chuckled, teasing.

“ _Hush_.” Damien gave William’s arm a light swat, embarrassed. He was an overachiever amongst a school of overachievers: it was something he was proud of, but saying “student body president” out loud felt braggy and incredibly pretentious. “But yes, honestly. It’s a lot of responsibility. Everyone keeps assuring me that I’m doing a good job, though.”

“That’s wonderful. I’m sure they’re right.” Damien could see the pride in William’s face. It made him burn with something unidentifiable, and he might have stopped dead in his tracks if Will hadn’t suddenly taken the opportunity to dip him.

“Jesus--” Damien shouted as his feet slid out from under him, throwing his arms around William’s neck and holding on for dear life. William’s face was buried in his shoulder, muffling his laughter, and Damien had to resist the urge to kiss him when he emerged.

“Sorry.” William sounded utterly unapologetic as he lifted Damien back onto his feet.

They continued to dance lazily, pressed close and smiling, their feet moving and their mouths running as naturally as breathing, until the music ran out. The two came to an abrupt stop, spell broken, as the air suddenly became heavy with an awkward silence.

“What time is it?” Damien blurted out as he finally let go and took a few steps back, face flushed. Four years had apparently destroyed any subtlety or restraint he’d had. William seemed to be coming out of a trance himself, blinking at Damien a few times in bewilderment before looking down at his watch.

“Nine-ten.” William fiddled with the wristband as he answered, avoiding Damien’s gaze. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, or simply embarrassment at the awkward situation, but Damien swore he saw a faint blush on William’s cheeks. Before Damien could think about it further though, William looked up again, smiled, and moved to go into the kitchen. “I’ll order us some take out.”

There was something incredibly touching about William remembering that Damien’s favorite pizza was Veggie Lovers.

  
~

 

From the moment they had met, William and Celine had been fast friends. They were like two puzzle pieces that snapped together just right. Perhaps it was due to their circumstances, as William was adopted and Celine was from a surrogate, or simply their personalities, as they were both the troublesome younger sibling. William and Celine would often get into mischief when they were younger, playing pranks and talking to ghosts, and did much the same now, with the added addition of being terrible gossips. Celine would never say as much, but William imagined that she appreciated him taking her stranger, more paranormal interests seriously. Thankfully, despite the physical attraction that William had felt toward the younger in high school and their drunken encounter in February, their friendship had never been stronger.

“I didn’t realize how fond of coffee Damien is.” William spoke, sitting across from Celine one afternoon during his second break. The man in question had finished today's drink, a butterscotch latte, and left hours ago. “I hope he doesn’t feel like I’m pressuring him to come in to try new drinks--”

“Don’t worry, you're not.” She sipped her latte. “He’s addicted to caffeine. College will do that to you.” Celine smiled as though she were laughing at a joke only she knew, something she did often. Regardless, William was mollified.

“I’ll have to make some for him next time he comes to the apartment.”

“You will. Though, I don’t know how he’d survive a cup of coffee without a foam mustache.” She rolled her eyes. Celine knew the apartment well, having helped William pick it out. “Though he won’t get the chance to drink it if you two dance the night away.” William smiled automatically at the memory. The night before he had gushed to Celine about his time with Damien in his newly unpacked apartment. They had drunk an entire bottle of red wine, both pleasantly tipsy. With Celine curled affectionately against him, a manicured hand on his knee, he happily spilled the details of his lovely night dancing with his best friend, from the Frank Sinatra to the wonderful warmth that had washed over him every time he made Damien laugh.

“It was nice. It’s been so long since we spent that much time together.” William sighed happily, fiddling with the plastic lid of his coffee cup. “I can’t exactly make him a dark chocolate mocha in my apartment, but I wouldn’t mind a repeat of the dancing.”

“Trust me, neither would he.” Celine sighed. “Speaking of Damien, guess who’s hanging out with Mark again today.” William’s grin quickly morphed into a grimace.

“Didn’t you say they always end up fighting?”

“Yeah, but every time I say it's not worth it, he comes back at me with ‘Celine, Mark is our friend, and he’s going through a difficult time. I understand that things are complicated, but I won’t abandon him for simply lashing out,’ blah blah blah.” Celine’s impression of her brother was disturbingly accurate; she had his cadence down cold, though her voice wasn’t as deep or warm.

“Well, you can’t say he’s wrong.” William wasn’t sure he could articulate the extent to which the two of them had fucked up that night. He still tried his best to avoid his brother out of shame, waiting for everything to blow over. Celine, however, had long ago smothered out any guilt regarding her breakup like a cigarette butt.  

“So-” Lack of remorse aside, she was aware that William’s work break was far from an appropriate time or place for this. Best to change the subject. “Are you going to dance with _me_ the next time we hang out at the bachelor pad? I’m sensing clear favoritism here.” Will laughed.

“Of course. I’ll even let you pick out the music.”

“Oh goodness me, you sure know how to make a girl feel special, Will.” She deadpanned. William grinned down at his coffee.

“So I’ve been told.”

“WILL, HELP PLEASE?” William’s coworker called for him from the counter, annoyed. A line was building, but it was no more than three people. Celine rolled her eyes and grumbled some choice things about his work ethic.

“Duty calls.” William stood and flashed her an apologetic smile, hurrying off to help Douglas, or whatever his name was. Celine stuck her tongue out at the stupid twink before returning her gaze to the table, musing over the vague plans she and Will had just made.

 

Celine loved Will’s apartment-- she had since the moment she’d gone with him to see the place, delightedly taking in the 19th-century bathtub in the middle of the kitchen, the Victorian wallpaper, the ridiculousness of stainless steel appliances in the middle of it all.

“It’s definitely haunted.” She’d announced dryly, running a finger along the rim of the tub, already knowing it would be the perfect place to lounge and smoke while she and William talked shit over a bottle of red. It probably wouldn’t be bad to fuck in either, but they hadn’t been anywhere near being comfortable enough with each other again yet to entertain that thought for more than a moment. Figuring her dramatic pause had gone on for long enough, she looked back up. “You have to get it.”

“I don’t know if I want to live somewhere that’s haunted.” He was endearingly earnest about it, in the way that made Celine’s chest puff up with confidence and had her feeling like she could take over the world. William was looking at the apartment with new eyes now, clearly trying to see whatever evidence Celine had found of paranormal residents.

“We’ll burn some sage when you move in.” She reassured him, smirking, but it was almost a smile. “The spirits know you’re with me, so they’ll probably leave you alone anyway.”

William had nodded, seeming to accept this answer, returning to examining the loft’s more mundane features. He opened cupboards and turned on the taps, walking around to check for loose floorboards, opening the windows to stick his head out and take in the view. Celine was busy taking selfies, posing in the bath, being sure to sneak a few candid shots of William to send to Damien later. He’d be so confused.

“I like it a lot.” Will had finally announced, standing in the middle of the floor and looking around dreamily, already imagining furniture and his endless knickknacks filling the empty space. Celine put up her phone and climbed out of the bathtub to stand in front of him, hands on her hips and one eyebrow raised.

“You mean you haven’t already signed the lease? I told you that you _had_ to get it.” She was teasing him, genuinely pleased that he agreed with her assessment that this place was _awesome as fuck_.

“I’ll go do it right now, I swear.” William chuckled, snapping his suspenders goofily as he leaned forward in a quick quarter-bow. “Apologies, m’lady.” Celine had rolled her eyes fondly and followed him outside, down the rickety alley stairs, and back into the bookstore. Tomorrow she’d sit on the counter and get high while he did all the hard work of lugging his shit in, cracking jokes and finally getting off her ass to walk in lazy circles with a bundle of burning sage only after William threatened to hold the wine hostage if she kept letting him do all the work. Then they’d order Thai and eat it on the floor, getting thoroughly drunk and making each other howl with laughter before Will finally collapsed on his bare, unframed mattress, Celine stubbornly insisting on curling up in the tub with a pile of blankets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I really appreciate feedback, it inspires me to continue improving my writing!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I really appreciate feedback. I'm going to try to post chapter's Biweekly or Monthly.  
> Fun game: I use YouTubers as background characters! Can you guess who?
> 
> Tumblr: yintsunami.tumblr.com


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